


Regrets

by MissChioga



Category: Four Brothers (2005)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:49:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissChioga/pseuds/MissChioga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby tells his son the things that he regrets in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regrets

_There were a lot of things that I regretted in life. When I wasn't there for your grandmother when she was shot and killed by hired guns, when I let things get out of hand and didn't protect your uncle, my baby brother, like I had promised him when he was only eight years old and had come home from school after two months of being with your grandmother with a black eye and a fat lip, and always being so goddamn violent. I would never get a do over on anything and I had always screwed shit up because I ended up getting pissed off and hitting or breaking something…I never fixed anything in my life, even when I'd gone to jail all those times when I was younger. It was just a never ending cycle of ruining shit._

_I was different when I found her, of course I was, everyone changes when they find someone who loves them. I wasn't as violent, I didn't screw up as much, I protected her and my new family more than I had ever protected my ma and brothers. I knew that if I fucked up much that I would ruin everything and this was one thing that I didn't want to fuck up._

_When I was thirty six, your mother and I had your older brother. It was a boy obviously (thank God) and we'd named him William, our second (your sister) we named Evelyn, and then of course, fate would have it that we should have three and we named you Jack (a tribute to memories that were raw then and even now as I sit here thinking about them)._

_I hate to admit is, but you were always my favorite. Jack was my favorite brother too, but that was because he put up with my shit, and he needed someone to protect him…needed someone to lead him through life and I had always, unconsciously wanted to be needed. Hack had needed someone that could save him from the world and himself, and though I led him through some destructive shit myself, I always thought that I would be able to protect him from all of it…but in the end, like always, I was wrong. You, however, weren't like that though. You ended up being the strongest of your siblings, you liked hockey and was good at it, I got you into music (in a desperate attempt to recreate my baby brother) and you ended up learning guitar, I even got you your first tattoo when you were sixteen just like I had with my brother. Thankfully, you never got some meat tenderizer stabbed in your tongue, I think I would have killed you myself if you'd've done some stupid shit like that._

_Our little family lived a happy life over the year. I raised you kids, had a few more stints with the law, went to William's science fairs, chased off Evelyn's boyfriends, and went to ever single concert and hockey game you'd ever had. And then, when I was fifty two, your mother got sick. She had contracted a brain tumor and there was nothing that the doctors could do by the time that they found it. In the end, I knew that it was my fault that your mother died. I should have pushed her into going to the hospital when she'd first started getting migraines, but, like when I was younger, I didn't think about it…I never thought about anything._

_When she died, it was like a part of me died with her, just like the part of me that had been brutally murdered with my mother and baby brother. I'd lost to much of myself, but I knew that I couldn't abandon my kids, I knew what being abandoned felt like, knew what it was like to have your family ripped away from you and be thrown into a place where every day was survival of the fittest. I had promised myself a long time ago that I would never allow my children (should I ever have had them, I still wasn't sure I was going to live very long in that point in my life) to go through the foster care system._

_I know that it wasn't easy at first. I didn't know what I was doing, your mother took care of most things…I didn't know how to talk to Evelyn about her emotional problems, didn't know how to talk to William when he was being a total fucking geek about everything…I hated it, so it always seemed like I was on a short fuse and didn't care about the three of you. But you understood, just like my baby brother would've understood. You made sure to make everything as easy as possible for me those first couple of years. Just like my brother, you just knew when I needed things…and I have always been thankful for that. I couldn't have done anything without you. When you all left home and I just couldn't stand living in the house that your mother and I shared anymore, you allowed me to stay with you and your wife, and that was one of the nicest things that anyone had ever done for me. I didn't deserve your kindness, as I said: I was the reason for your mother's death…you should have kicked me off your doorstep the moment I came to visit you, but you didn't, and I was thankful each and every single fucking day, even when I didn't seem to appreciate it._

_No one was prouder than me when you graduated from college with a music degree and had joined the hockey league. That wasn't the first time I'd told you that I'd always dreamed of playing professional hockey, but you still listened all the same as I re-taught you all the moves that I used to use. I remember my words to you when you told me the news: 'Jack, you only get one chance at this, don't fuck it up.' You ended up playing for the Red Wings, just like I had always dreamed of doing when I had been your age. No one was prouder than me when you brought the Stanley Cup home._

_When you quit the league, I was pissed, but I understood. Half of your life had been hockey, you wanted to make use of your degree, and so you and your wife moved to New York and you played music in clubs. They were always better than the ones that my baby brother had played in. Jackie always seemed to find the shittiest places, everywhere he went that boy could find the worst shithole around and end up there. You were the opposite, you knew where they were, but you usually avoided them like the plague, and for that, I was thankful; I wouldn't have to worry about coming to New York and having to save your ass like I always seemed to have to do for my brother._

_I remember that I was sixty eight when you had your first two children, they were twins of course, which still confuses the hell outta me. Your little girl was beautiful, which wasn't surprising, considering that you looked so much like your mother and had your wife was built like a fucking brick house, you named her Zoey Sofia (the middle name after Uncle Angel's fucking insane wife. I never understood why you had liked her so much, that La Vida Loca chick was fucking insane). Your son, you named Jack too, after the uncle that you'd never met but had heard so much about. I hate to admit it, but when you told me that you'd named your son Jack, I cried. The Michigan Mauler had cried because you had named your son after the baby brother that I still desperately missed. When I held him for the first time, I knew that my brother was with me again, your Jack had blonde hair and blue eyes too, but the shades were a bit off, the blonde a bit to light…the blue a bit too dark; but it was my brother all the same. Then, three years later, you had another son and named him Robert, I couldn't believe that you had named one of your kids after me, so I vowed not to pick favorites. Once again though, Jack was always my favorite._

_It never really was intended, but I had always felt so horrible about not saving my baby brother that I always personified him in you and then, when your first son was born, in him. Jack was my baby brother reincarnated, I had my brother back. He was just the same. Shy, afraid of his shadow, always in need of protection (that Robert always provided for him, having always been more muscled…if not quite shorter). Your Jack though I always treated better than my baby brother. I never called your son a fairy, never told people that he was gay. I never made gay jokes that made him uncomfortable._

_There were many things in my baby brother's past that he would have liked to have forgotten, but I always had to bring them out to the light. But that's just who I've always been. You don't dwell on your fucking problems; you lay them out on the table and get rid of them after you've faced everything like a man._

_I knew that your son was my baby brother come back from the dead, and I know that it made you uncomfortable how close I was to him…how I used to tell him stories about my brother that I had never even told you or your siblings. How I used to tell him things that I'd only told my ma. You didn't understand why I was so much closer to your son than I was to you, and I will regret that forever as well. I never meant to make you feel that way, I loved you just as much as I loved your son._

_You just don't understand what it's like to lose someone when you have sworn to protect them…and I hope that you never will. I hope that your family will continue living their happy lives; I wish that my grandchildren never had to know what it is like to lose someone precious to them. But they must, everyone in life has to go through that kind of feeling, it's just the way it is._

I brushed a hand through my hair, leaning over the table as I read through the letter for the tenth time tonight. I just couldn't believe it…could not believe that I would never see my father again. He'd been such a constant in my life for so long that even now that it had been a few days since we'd buried him in the plot beside my grandmother and Uncle Jack and we'd seen his lawyer today to get his will…I couldn't believe that he was gone.

My father, the famous Bobby Mercer, the man that people on the ice knew as 'the Michigan Mauler' had died two weeks ago at the age of eighty four. I could still remember hearing him tell me when I was seventeen that he never thought he'd make it to thirty and he'd surpassed even that. He'd made it to eighty four, much to his annoyance.

I couldn't believe that he was gone, my father, the man that had tried so hard to keep everything together after mom died, the man that had once beat the shit out of some asshole's dad for letting his kid make fun of my older brother. The guy that had gotten in a bar fight at the age of seventy six and still put the guy in the hospital had died…leaving everything to his family. The letters were the biggest surprise to us, he wasn't a very emotional person, and according to his brothers he never really had. The only emotion he seemed to know was anger, but, as he'd gotten older, once again according to Uncle Angel and Uncle Jeremiah, and after he'd met mom, he'd become a bit better about not being as angry…and actually showing people that he cared in ways other than protecting them.

I could still remember when mom was alive and he had surprised her with flowers that he had obviously picked from the neighbor's yard. Though she knew that our neighbor, Mr. and Mrs. Finch, would be pissed when they saw their prized Irises pulled out of their front lawn, mom had thought it was sweet, taking the dirt off the roots and cutting the stems to get rid of the roots that dad had dug out of the ground and placing them in her favorite vase. I smiled, seeing the scene play out in front of me.

The way that dad had wrapped one arm around mom's waist, planting a soft kiss on her check, apparently very un-Bobby Mercer like in his brothers' eyes, and pulled the purple Irises from behind his back, showing them to her as dirt fell from the roots of the flowers and onto the counter where she had been making our lunch. At that point in time, mom had lost most of her hair, she had taken to wearing hats, and scarves around her head. Dad had always said that he liked that look better on her. We all knew though, mom could've walked around with her bald head showing and no makeup or good clothes and he would think that she was perfect.

After making a small fuss about the dirt on the food she had been in the process of making and swatting him on the arm when she learned that they were from Mr. and Mrs. Finch's front yard, she rolled her eyes at him, a trait that Evelyn had picked up from her early on, much to dad's annoyance. Mom had taken the flowers to the sink and done her normal flower ritual.

She'd loved flowers, loved it when dad would bring her flowers home after working with Uncle Jeremiah all day. He'd made it a habit to bring her flowers, and if he couldn't make it to the store before coming home, he'd pull them from someone else's yard. I had the feeling that the neighbors always knew who had been pulling their flowers from their front yards, but it seemed like the combination of their fear of dad and their pity for mom's condition stopped them from complaining about it.

The flowers helped mom coupe when the chemo got too bad.

I smiled, looking back at the letter and turning around in the bar stool that I was sitting in like I had done with dad when he would be making food and needed guidance.

_I remember when my baby brother first came home, he was this timid little kid wearing some jacket that was about five sizes too big for him, playing with some shitty lighter and looking everywhere but at the people who were paying attention to him. He'd been so fragile back then…hell, he'd stayed fragile, but we'd gotten rid of the worst fragileness that had always both pissed me off and made me worry about the damn kid whenever I was around._

_When you'd brought home Zoey and Jack for the first time, I remember holding Jack and seeing my baby brother's face there, seeing the timid little eight year old boy that I'd met so long ago, and finding it funny that he would just show up in my life again now. That was how my baby brother was though. I would be in some shitty situation and Ma would send him to come sort me out because he was the only one that could._

_And, as it turns out, your Jack was the same way. You remember the first time that you and I took him onto the ice to teach him and Zoey how to skate and some guy ran into Zoey? She fell over and sprained her wrist and I went off? If I remember correctly, which I know I do, I went to hit the asshole and Jack got in between us, looking up at me with those fucking blue puppy dog eyes and told me to stop._

_I stopped of course, not because of those stupid eyes of his…I couldn't hit the asshole in front of me with a six year old between us. You know how it is; I wasn't going to get Jack hurt too. I wasn't that stupid._

_It was just like my baby brother, Jack had gotten between me and plenty of guys that deserved to have their heads bashed in. My Jack didn't like fighting though, he didn't like violence, he didn't like yelling, and he didn't like it when something bad happened around the house. That kid was like a fucking dormouse, afraid of his own goddamn shadow…and my grandson turned out to be almost the exact same way. Your kid was afraid of everything. All I had to do was slam the door and he would jump._

_I never really understood that._

_I couldn't understand what had happened that would make him so jumpy all the time. But, when we found out…I wanted to burn the fucker's house down just like I had done with my baby brother when he had told me what had happened in one of his former homes._

_When I told you, and you'd agreed, I was a bit surprised…but the fire thing always worked when we were making a point, and this time we were able to make sure that the fucker was inside the house instead of out shopping, of course you didn't know that part and we'd left before the whole house could catch on fire._

_I was worried for a while that the fire thing hadn't worked that time, but as time went on and no one messed with him again, it seemed like it would be okay. For a little while at least. He was doing the same thing as my baby brother had, and the fact that I knew the signs made me glad that I'd moved in with you again. I was able to tell, way better than you had, not that it was your fault that you didn't know the signs…I'd just dealt with them before._

_We got him the help he needed though, I'm glad that I was able to help Jack…I was better at it this time, a little more patient than I had been before. It pissed me off knowing that my baby brother was a guinea pig to teach me how to deal with that situation in the future. How the fuck could that be a good thing._

_Why did my baby brother have to go through what he'd had to when he died at twenty one?_

"What're you reading?" I looked behind me as Jack came into the room, yawning and rubbing his eyes as he walked over to the coffee pot.

I watched him for a moment and then sighed again, "My dad's letter."

"Oh." He took a large sip of his coffee, "That's cool."

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes at my oldest son, "Yeah."

An awkward pause fell between us, causing me to look back at the letter, Jack had always been the quiet one in the house, but after everything that had happened…after Eugene Harolds had moved into the house next door and took it upon himself to ruin my son's life, his quiet was a ten times more different than what it had used to be. My fist clenched at the thought of Eugene and I hid the sadistic smile that threatened to come across my face on what dad had written in his letter. Eugene Harolds had suffered for what he did…but it still wasn't enough.

"Grandpa was a good guy right?"

The sudden question caught me off guard and it took me a moment to come back to our kitchen where my son was looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer. "Yeah, he was a good guy."

"Okay." Jack nodded and I looked back at the letter and then back at my son.

"Why?"

He shrugged and took another sip of his coffee before pulling another cup out and pouring it out. I turned away from him again, about to read the last couple of things dad had written when Jack slid the cup over to me and pulled a stool up, the legs of the stool making screeching sounds as it slid across the linoleum floor.

"Your mother's asleep."

"Sorry."

"Did grandpa really play hockey?"

I smiled largely and looked back at my son with a soft laugh, "Yeah he did. He was pretty good at it."

"Why'd he stop?"

I laughed again, "He got kicked out of the league for being too rough with the other players."

Jack nodded at me and another silence fell between us.

"He was really proud of you."

Jack's eyes found mine, "Yeah?"

"Yeah he was." I put the letter on the counter and then pushed it toward him, "You should read this."

It took him a moment to reach out and grab the letter that held both our names. He stared at the words before his eyes started moving from side to side, reading the words quickly and soaking him in like he always did.

I ruffled his blonde hair and stood up from my stool, "I'm going to bed. See you in the morning kiddo."

Jack nodded, not looking away from the paper as I left the kitchen and walked upstairs to the room I shared with my wife.

_Anyway, at the risk of going on and on over bullshit…I just want you to know, that I've always been proud of you, you've kept my head above water ever since your mother died even when it seemed like I didn't…and I know full well that there were times where you wanted to throw me into some nursing home. I know that you'll get by without me, you've always been good at adapting and so have Evelyn and William._

_Before I end this, I figure that I should tell you that I want Jackie to have my car. That's my baby, so make sure he doesn't fuck it up. You, William, and Evelyn can figure out what to do with everything else, I don't really care much about what happens to it. Just don't give your mother's stuff away. I'm sure that if I get to see her in the afterlife she'll already be pissed about me moving from the house we had bought after we got married._

_And take care of your family, I won't be around to help out anymore, so don't fuck anything up with them._

_Dad_


End file.
